THANKYOU: lilachiccups: hahaha I'm sorry. Don't get a concussion please. Lauraa-x: Gavin's a stinking womanizing jerk. And yeah, I think Arthur's so consumed with his feelings for her (by the end of this chapter) that he has no choice but to accept it. Bad argument :/ but luckily you'll see Arthur won't let the tussle last long. He's learning. Good boy. Guest: Mmm…maybe a little. I think she won't feel guilty about doing stuff with Gavin because of this. But her feelings are still in the middle of the fence at this point. Eirlys: Sorry, I can't get rid of Gavin =( the team needs him for the job. And no worries! I understand what you're saying. I think it's incredible you can read and write in a second language. Your English is good to me. =) Thank you so much for reviewing and sharing your thoughts anyway. numbah435spiritsong: BECAUSE THEY LIKE EACH OTHER SO MUCH. Haha. He does but he's learning, he'll get better this chapter. Promise.
Cupcakes for dessie.28. Thank you for following and favoriting.
Chapter 14: If It Kills Me
Ariadne had a dandy morning the next day.
Housekeeping knocked on her door at 9:11, alerting her she was late. Since, she wasn't in the mood for anything but getting comfortable, plopping into her bed and screaming into her pillow when she got in the night before…she forgot to set the alarm clock or set up a wake-up call from the front desk. So she dove out of bed and asked the maids to come back later before hopping into the shower. Halfway through, Ariadne realized there was no soap left so she had to use the rest of her shampoo to suffice. She hopped out: one towel left. And no clothes to change into. As a result, her soaking wet hair pummeled the carpet with drops of water while she tore through her drawers for something to throw on. She settled for her dark jeans and a dark orange and green striped quarter length Henley since they were on top. The Architect literally smeared on some foundation and blinked on mascara just so she wouldn't look dead, stuffed her feet in her shoes and ran out and into the elevator.
She was power-walking through the library when she noticed A) there was a towel on her head. B) Her messenger bag was in the room. Along with C) her missing room key. It was a five minute wait and ten minute long process to prove she was herself (or her alias) and get another key card. Eventually she was on her way to the warehouse. (After grabbing her bag, ditching the towel and grabbing a pastry from the continental breakfast for her ride. Taxis were turning out to be a one in a million that morning and she couldn't pace in the carport any longer without having a panic attack so she strode down the streets. Waiting for her turn at a crosswalk, her cell started to buzz uncontrollably. The Architect put her untouched croissant in her mouth to have free hands to pull out her phone and check the caller id in perfect synchronization with the 'Walk' sign lighting up. The horde of people stampeded, one knocking into her and making her breakfast fly out of her mouth and into the gutter. "Shit!"
"Excuse me?" Her caller inquired. It was the Extractor. Ready for their 9:30 production meeting to start. Even though it was twelve minutes to ten.
"Sorry, someone just—" Following a longing look at her ruined breakfast she got back on track, "I'm having a horrific morning. I'm walking as fast as I can I promise."
They were used to it, in all honesty, and she'd been better about it lately so he could let it slide. "Ariadne, Ariadne…" he panned, humor hidden in the crevices of his intonation. "We've gone ahead and started the meeting. You can have someone fill you in when you arrive. We're just having a disagreement about what you'd be comfortable doing so I thought I'd call and ask you."
What wouldn't she be comfortable with? "Ok?"
"We really need another gunman on Eames' level and since Arthur is dreaming the third and I'm extracting, we'd need it to be Gavin." Ariadne was half listening—half jogging across the street before a tour bus crushed her. "Would you be up for dreaming and holding down the first level? You think you can handle it?"
That made her day sunnier. She'd get to under again and be an integral member? Hold down an entire level and time a kick? The Architect loved nothing more than challenge, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes. I'll do it."
The Parisian heard him speak away from the receiver, "She says yes." And in the background there was a sarcastic British accent, "Big surprise. I told you she would." And then there was a gruff voice that made her want to break something or kick the stop sign in front of her, "Of course she'd agree. That's why we shouldn't have left it up to her. We should've evaluated th—" The Extractor clearly wasn't listening to Arthur because in the middle of the Point's rant, Victor came back to the phone, "Excellent, we'll talk details at our evening meeting. See you soon."
Beaming with pride over her new task, Ariadne was knocked to the ground by a man on a bike. What a morning…he picked up his bicycle with a 'scuse' but without helping her up and peddled on his way. Glad he was ok. The Architect got a nasty, dirty, scrape on her left elbow and chaffed skin on her right palm. Nothing horrible but it didn't feel great. Upon her entering their workplace, with a semi-damp, wavy mess of hair and battle scars from the journey, the Team dispersed from their gathering by the lawn chairs. She marched straight to Eames and pointed at her elbow, "I need first aid pronto, Tonto."
The Brit grimaced, "Nasty. What makes you think I'm the one to come to for that?"
Ariadne ignored the pins and needles on her back from the stares of the Point Man and crossed her arms, "Because you're a Band-Aid whore?" Gavin greeted her by stating 'good morning' and patting her hip on his way past. Eames simultaneously took hold of her arm to assess it as she continued, "You horde the kit at your desk because of all the bar fights you get into."
"Out of the mouth of babes…" he quoted and winked before leading her to his desk and supplying her with what she needed.
xxxxxxx
Ariadne hadn't pulled her hair up into a messy bun, uncovered the model she was working on and been measuring sides for ten minutes when a coffee cup appeared on top of the foam board. She cut her eyes up and met the stare of someone she hoped she wouldn't have to acknowledge for at least a week. "It's a peace offering." No movement came from the girl. The ruler stayed turned on its side, the pencil stayed mid-line at the seven inch mark and her form stayed hunched over. All that moved were her brown orbs back to the coffee cup. Scrutinizing. Arthur adjusted his stance in the midst of her muteness. Cleared his throat. Which resulted in her eyes cutting back up to him. "It's your usual: Vanilla latte, soy milk and cinnamon." The Point Man started and went into his inside jacket pocket, "Oh and your chocolate croissant." He placed it on the desk in its papering. Then plucked a short stemmed, lavender tulip from among his pocket squares and laid it by her hand. Again, her gaze jumped to the table. The ruler was forgotten, the pencil laid down and her posture straightened when she reached out and tore off a piece of the croissant and popped it into her mouth. Her eyebrows rose as she regarded him with words instead of empty looks, "It's good."
Arthur visibly relaxed and leapt into contrite admissions, "Our fight—" he huffed, "it could've been avoided. You did nothing wrong. Some of the things I said and the way I said them were uncalled for."
The Parisian blew on her beverage and sipped from it before shaking her head, "I was overtired from the flight and stressed and on edge, I overreacted. I mean, nothing you said was wrong. Or untrue."
"Yes it was," argued the man. His hands supported his body weight against her desk, "You're not lucky I let you get this close." One of his hands bladed and gestured to himself, "I'm lucky you let me. That you continue to put up with me and forgive me when I make mountains out of molehills. I don't deserve your friendship."
The anger was doing wonders in pulverizing her feelings for him and now he had to be sweet again. And bring her breakfast. And a flower. And soften his dark, alluring eyes at her. Ariadne rolled her eyes at him, "Oh, shut up. I'm just as dramatic. We deserve each other."
The Point swallowed hard. Yeah, they did deserve each other, didn't they? They deserved to be together. How perfect would they be? And anyone acquainted with Arthur knew he thrived on perfection. The Point Man decided that morning that he had to exert himself and show her a special amount of attention to fix all the problems surrounding them. Like Gavin. Better than Gavin. Give her signs that he cared more than he used to. So, determined to be the first to cave and apologize (instead of being stubborn and prolonging their interval of distance like his instincts told him to), he left the hotel early and stopped at the place they had breakfast their first day of work. "I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't matter much." Her shrug wasn't the reaction he was going for. It didn't look like that sunk in like it should've. So he elaborated, "You matter a great deal to me."
Smiling in a tight-lipped fashion, she dropped her eye line to the desk again, "You do too." He was killing her. The night before she wanted to bury herself alive to stop the stinging, that morning she wanted to wring his neck and now she wanted to grab his tie, pull him closer and kiss him senseless. It was becoming an endless paradox of emotions. Wholly exhausting. It didn't help matters when he rounded the corner of her worktable and picked up her elbow to examine the large square Band-Aid. "What happened?"
She chuckled to herself because she thought her sense of humor was priceless, "The sidewalk." His eyes continued to question. "I got run over by a bicyclist."
"Last night?" The worry slipped out.
"No, this morning." Arthur didn't have to drop her arm…He could've held it forever if he wanted. The warm fuzzies pooling in her stomach were remarkable.
The Point Man ran his fingers along the edge of her desk to the side opposite of her, "Well, I heard someone turns twenty four on Tuesday."
Returning to busily measuring with the yardstick, Ariadne picked up her pencil and started marking lines where she left off, "You heard right."
When she seemed to search for something, he held out a highlighter, "Vic giving you the afternoon off?"
The woman took it from him and popped the cap off with her teeth. So that's why half of the caps on the markers at his desk had chew marks…she'd been borrowing them and using them as chew toys apparently. "All day," shrugged the girl. "He said I deserve it."
Arthur agreed wholeheartedly, "You do. You work tirelessly," watching her take a drag from her cup, he kidded, "I suppose I've rubbed off on you." That was another thing. Beginning that morning, Arthur would endeavor to have playful banter more often. To have the kind of discussions they had on the phone in real life.
Ariadne finally finished the task she was trying to complete and rewarded herself with a bite of croissant. She may have also defensively, she shot back with, "Hey, I had good work ethic years before I met you."
"Yeah. I just meant—" Geeze. He didn't know what to say around her these days. Everything was wrong or sounded too pathetic or didn't sound friendly enough or wasn't enough to pique her interest to continue a chat. "You weren't a job-driven workaholic like me."
With her Styrofoam cup up to her mouth, she pointed at him to concede, "Touche. Let's hope I never am." Now, he had a rough sketch of what she had in store for her birthday. He was heading to the restroom earlier as Gavin presented her with concert tickets and wanted to puke all over himself in disgust at the man's desperate attempt. The reason Arthur wanted a more detailed schedule was because he'd been fretting over it and decided he wanted to ask her to lunch or dinner together. What would be a more seamless excuse to treat her to a meal alone than her birthday? Hiding his real motive behind the celebration made him feel better about yearning for a closer relationship with the Architect. He fished around, "Any big plans?"
Ariadne swallowed her mouthful fast, "Yes! Gavin scored two tickets to the Lana Del Rey concert over at the Colleseum! Can you believe that?" She was one level away from jumping up and down in excitement over it. With disdain, the man noticed her glance over at Gavin's area with a smile.
"Actually I can." He wasn't impressed. Far from it. And he doubted Gavin shared her musical interests—the Chemist just wanted to suck her into his world of leather jackets, overuse of alcohol and singers. "When is it?"
"It starts at seven, I think," here, she opened a drawer and unsheathed her box cutter, "but we want to be in the city by five so we can eat dinner first."
Dinner and a concert. The screeching sound of the metal sliding through the foam was akin to the way Arthur felt. It sounded like a date, however much Arthur didn't want to believe it was. Didn't want to accept that her and Gavin's weekend away put them on dating terms, on exclusive terms. Arthur joked again to relieve his tension, "Surprised Eames didn't insist on treating you to a bank heist instead."
"He tried." Ariadne laughed, tracing more pencil lines with the knife, "No. Actually, he wanted to have breakfast before your 9:30 production meeting but my friends are taking a train in to spend all Tuesday morning with me, so…"
Morning was booked. Night was booked. Arthur had a small window of opportunity (and we mean like a doggy door) to carry out his idea. Even if he vied for half an hour at a bakery between her plans or had to wake up extremely early for coffee in the lobby or take her for gelato at midnight after the concert, it was dire he try. It was urgent he made her feel that her birthday was important to him as well. Coolly on the outside, he adjusted his tie and gestured to the forger's table with his index, "We have a lunch break…why don't Eames and I take you for lunch? Or do you already have plans?"
"Lunch was plan-free actually." Ariadne put her cutter down and leant her hip against the drawing table, "That would be fine."
Yes! The Point Man went ahead and took care of all the details so their dat—luncheon would be set in stone. "I'd want to give you ample time with your friends. How about around one? Is that an agreeable time?"
"It's perfect." Grinned the girl, "Where do you want to go?" picking off more flaky pastry and popping it into her mouth.
"You're the birthday girl, you pick." The boyish side of Arthur—that hid from everyone—was giddy she agreed. It added, "And don't worry about expense. Wherever you want. Your wish is my command."
The Architect did that thing where her eyes narrowed, her head tilted and she bit her lip…she was in deep thought but it made Arthur's hands clam up to the point where he had to wipe them on his pants inconspicuously. Like lightning striking the earth: sudden, bright, brilliant, scary, Ariadne's gaze met his. "Have you been to Ditirambo? I know Eames hasn't."
Eames? That was out of the blue. After backtracking to the beginning of the conversation, the poor man mentally kicked himself in the butt for inviting Eames. The reluctant, serious, stand-offish side Arthur had snuck in and done that. It was aware of his desire to be alone with her and the chaos that would ensue if he were. "No, I don't believe I have either."
She picked up a previously shaped piece of foam and shaved off the corners, "It's this amazing hole-in-the-wall two blocks from the Campo dei Fiori. I found it on a dinner break when we first got here, I've been dying to go again."
"Ditirambo it is. I'm looking forward to it."
xxxxxx
The Architect and her group of old school mates (Clarisse, Edith, Madeline) met at nine for antique shopping and stopped around eleven for scones and early morning Madras. The outside café was similar to the ones they were accustomed to from home, so the girls were comfortable kicking back and catching up. Ariadne had just recently opened the presents they'd brought her (despite her adamant demand they not give her anything but their company). Collectively they put together a smoking outfit for a night on the Italian town and purchased all the pieces. Pumps, dress, jewelry, clutch. (It was an excuse to help her dress up for things without being there. Because normally they had to come over and wrestle her into a tight skirt or something.) Well, and they threw in some new colored ink pens because that was more her style. Her phone vibrated on the table, "Oh, I need to take this."
Edith leaned over the table to look at the caller id, "Ariadne…No work today, you promised. Let it go to voicemail," complained her girlfriend as she snatched the phone from the Architect and held it to her chest for safekeeping.
"It's not business related. It's a friend from work I'm meeting later," Ariadne explained, shaking her hand at her.
Madeline grabbed it from Edith to see the handsome friend in the contact photo, "Oooooh, who's this gorgeous thing? Ari, sweetie, are you keeping dirty little secrets from us?"
The Architect stood up and over the table, seized the device, swiped it and blurted, "Hey," before her 'handsome friend' could hang up. "Happy Birthday, Architect." Arthur's smooth voice washed over her and forced her to bite her lip to keep from smiling while on display."Thanks." Sensing, the prying eyes of her friends, she rolled her eyes at them and turned her body on the chair to face outwards.
"Are you still up for lunch at one?"
"Yes, absolutely." She really shouldn't have been that thrilled about it. Sure the whole reason they were getting together was because he wanted to treat her for her birthday…but any nice person you've known for a while would do that. They were best friends. She would want to do something special for his birthday if she knew when it was. Plus, Eames was coming too. It wasn't as if it was a date. Though the butterflies in her stomach and the two hours getting ready that morning felt like it.
The woman could see the grin on the other side of the phone, "Good. You'll never guess what I'm doing right now."
"What?"
"Eh," he made the sound flippantly, "putting your present together."
One knee began to bounce excitedly, both lips rubbed together, both eyes creased from the huge smile on her face, "Oh, you didn't have to get me anything."
"Too late. Do you—would you want me to pick you up or—would you rather meet there?"
There were two more hours until their meeting time and she didn't know what else the girls wanted to do. That and she really didn't want them to see him drive up and collect her because they would tease her about him enough as it was. They were like her mother. Ariadne could look at a man once and have them planning their bridesmaids' duties. "I don't know where I'll end up and I don't want you to have to drive around God's creation to find me. We can meet there."
"Alright." Was it her imagination or did he sound (even the tiniest bit) disappointed? Get a grip and shake it off, Ari. "I'll let you go, now. Sorry if I bothered you while you're with your friends."
Ariadne giggled (giggled? Really Bourgeois? Contain yourself), "No, bother me any time. Bye." After she hung up, she turned back to her table and took a swig of her drink as if each woman in her party weren't all ogling her with faces like hyenas. The Architect prayed they would drop it if she ignored them long enough…if she twiddled her thumbs and stared at the red umbrella above them.
Nope.
Clarisse (who was most in the know about Ariadne's current romantic behavior) poked her shoulder playfully, "Who was that? Motorcycle Man?"
"Motorcycle man?" Edith's eyebrows rose and gave Ariadne an approving look, "Vroom vroom."
Ariadne blushed first than shook her head and corrected, "No, it was Robot Man."
"Arthur?" Clarisse wanted to confirm and Ariadne wanted stab herself with her straw because now they all knew his name.
"Wait, there's two men?" Madeline slapped her hands on the table and leant across to look Ariadne dead in the eyes, "You have two men fighting over you?" If she squealed or started clapping like she always did, Ariadne would slap her. She actually would this time.
"They're not fighting over me," scowled the Birthday Girl, "Arthur and I have a healthy work-friendship. He doesn't care what I do with Gavin." The Point had said so himself. Those were pretty much his exact words.
Edith didn't seem to register it. The leggy blonde wiggled her eyebrows and talked over Ariadne to Clarisse because obviously Ariadne wasn't going to share, "Is Gavin the Motorcycle man?"
"Oui. He's taking her to dinner and a concert tonight!" They whispered and giggled like it was something straight out of a romantic comedy…the Architect had to pinch the bridge of her nose, "And Robot man is taking her to lunch!"
Ariadne separated the two girls conversing across her with her arms and sounded more let down when she heard herself than she wanted to, "Not just the two of us. Eames is coming too." Don't get her wrong…she adored the Forger. But being alone with Arthur was something she relished in and (guiltily) fantasized about since that day some wonderfully rude Italian family forced him to press against her.
Madeline gasped, "Three men? Sacre bleu, Ariadne, n'aves-vous pas vivre la vie rose?" *1
By now the tiniest Parisian had had enough, "Guys, seriously, stop. Eames is like my brother, Arthur and I don't see each other like that—"
Edith hummed, "So your eyes just twinkle when you're on the phone with him for nothing?" Madeline joined in, "Sure does look like you see him that way…" Ariadne glared daggers at them. Daggers that sharpened with Edith's mocking, "Ohhhh bother me anytime, Arrrrthur." Edith gasped when the Architect's straw flicked some of her drink on her.
"How do you see Gavin?" Clarisse prompted.
"Gavin…" Ariadne trailed off…It was easy with Gavin. She didn't have to skirt around him, he made it plain he was interested. She didn't have to worry about unrequited feelings. The Architect could toy around with him and they both knew where they stood. Gavin was good for the ego. "He's another story…"
Madeline fanned herself with her hand and sipped at her Madras, "Mon Dieu, remember when we couldn't get her to talk to one guy at the bar and now she has trois fawning all over her?"
"You better wear that sexy outfit we bought you…you're bound to snag one of them," Edith instructed.
Clarisse pretended to dab tears from her eyes with her napkin, "Je suis fier tellement." *2
Ariadne clipped, "Tais-toi et manges votre croissant." *3
Xxxxxx
Arthur was early. Arthur is always early. He didn't know if the small restaurant was a favorite of the locals or not and since it wasn't the type where he could make reservations, he wanted to secure a table. From his seat he could watch across the small space through the window outside. Ten minutes to one (she was early too? Ariadne is never early), he spotted her getting out of a cab with bags in tow. She looked girlier than usual: An open collared, short sleeve white blouse, tucked into a floral skirt that billowed in the wind. Modest wedges. The hair that normally hung in front of her eyes was twisted and bobby-pinned back. It was the sweet side of her, reminiscent of the night they went to the show. The first time he recalled not being able to keep his eyes off of her. The Point Man stood when she came through the door and waved her over, "Buon pomeriggio."
"Ciao," She waved back with the hand looped through a paper bag's handles, "Wait. Is that 'bye'?"
"Either or. Looks like you've been gifted generously today," he alluded to the two bags she sheepishly sat in the chair next to her. "Nah, we went to some of the farmer's markets and I picked up some stuff for my flat. And some antique for mom. She loves to put those kinds of things on the fireplace."
He made to pull out her chair for her but she'd already done so, so he sat down opposite of her, "Eames is on his way; he was right behind me." This may have been the one time Arthur prayed someone was drastically late.
"Did you find the place alright?" Ariadne scooted herself closer, a strand of hair tucked behind her ear in the process.
"Yes. Oh—" Arthur reached under the table and pulled a large gift bag out and set it on the expanse of the table between them. "Happy Birthday, again."
The small woman could scarcely see over it to him, "Holy crap. What do you get me, a microwave?" Since she couldn't see him, she heard his amused snort and got on to him, "Arthur…"
He stretched and found a way to look at her over it, "I know, I know. You hate it when I buy you things but there's a good excuse this time."
The appreciation was genuine when she murmured, "Thank you." Then the bag was heaved up and sat it in the chair next to her with the other bags, "I'll open it later—"
"No, I want to see your face."
Arthur wasn't the type to pull pranks but the sly look he graced her with was unnerving. The Architect made sure to squint her eyes and rotate her head to make it obvious she was on to whatever he was doing. "Ok…" With a deep breath (like an alligator would bite her hand and pull her in) Ariadne dove her hand into the tissue paper and pulled out the first thing she touched. It was a cardboard package like the ones that come in the mail. From reading the label that said it was shipped to their hotel from 'The Sharper Image', Ariadne got an idea of what it could be and grinned, "Oh my God, you didn't…" Arthur handed her his keys so she could cut through the tape and open the box, "You did not." There was a small and long case that twisted open at the top. The woman opened it and—"Yes…Yes! This is the best present ever." Out came a shiny, spanking new, laser pointer pen. She twirled it over her fingers and flashed the dot of light over the table and Arthur, "Oh, that is awesome."
"Now you can stop leaving your greasy paw prints on mine."
"You love my greasy paw prints."
He interrupted the Architect's intense laser show by informing, "There's more. There's a lot more, actually. Just dig around."
"But what could be better than a laser pen?" The next thing she touched was a round cylinder. After the tissue was ripped off it was revealed to be a giant shaker of garlic powder. "Really…?" She held it up to him and he proudly nodded. Ariadne set it at the edge of the table, "Ok, I'm using that for lunch."
"Not the whole thing, please," Arthur lightheartedly slid it away from her then encouraged, "Keep going."
The next was a combination of two things wrapped in tissue paper together: The original Broadway soundtrack of Beauty and the Beast and a doll like the one he'd bought Philippa at the show. The singing Beast action figure. The woman may have shrieked like a little kid, "Amazing…He looks just like him…"
"Press the button on his back." Arthur took it out of the box quickly and adeptly, turned the toy around, placed it in her hands for her and pressed it. There were an assortment of the main characters and each featured a different song when you pressed their button. Since it was her favorite, he got her the one that sang 'If I Can't Love Her.' Ariadne gasped. Adorably, he might add.
Lying on what felt like the bottom was a gift card to the convenience store next door to their hotel. On it, was a post it that read (in his careful script), 'For Chapstick. Since you always lose yours.' "What?" She breathed incredulously at him.
He shrugged, "It should last you a month; Keep going…"
"There's more?" Two big rectangular cubes turned out to be the entire series (thus far) box sets of Bates' Motel and Cupcake Wars. The two shows she watched the most. Scanning the boxes and reading the special features with wide eyes, she exclaimed, "This is freakin awesome, Arthur."
She made sure there was no more and pulled out a maroon, satin scarf with white geo print that resembled a maze. Arthur winced, "Cliché, I know. You have a million."
"Yeah, but none that look like a maze. That's so rad…" Ariadne folded it back gently, "And you know, only one from you."
"Two now." He pointed out.
Once everything was neatly back in the bag and the bag underneath the table she stood to hug him, "You, sir, know me freakishly well. Thank you." Arthur felt his toes catch fire. "It's literally everything I could've wanted." The woman would never know how happy he was to hear that. For the past two days, he'd wracked his brain, scoured the internet and overnighted packages to have the perfect melting pot of gifts. When he heard Gavin's present were tickets to one of her favorite artist's concert, he was afraid mementos like garlic powder and a Disney doll would pale in comparison. But she reacted how he hoped she would. Better than he hoped.
While thrilled with the objects he accumulated for her, they weren't what Ariadne was referring to when she said they were everything she could've wanted. All of it was awesome to receive and own…not all of it she would've put on a wish list if asked to write one up. Everything she wanted was in his detailed thought of each present. Like each was a reminder of a memory they shared. It showed how much he remembered about their friendship, about her. The present/s were so exceedingly personal, Ariadne couldn't have gotten anything better.
"Uh oh, hope I'm not interrupting any friskiness." Eames popped in and scooted past Arthur to sit. The Point flashed a frown, "Took you long enough."
The Englishman ignored him per usual and kissed Ariadne on both cheeks over the table, "Happy Birthday, Darling. I ordered your present. It will be delivered to your hotel room sometime tonight." His eyebrows waggled suggestively, making Ariadne's face heat up, "Eames, you were kidding about the Strip-o-Gram, right?"
He feigned astonishment, "You said you wanted one."
"I was joking!" She hid her face in her hands, "Please say it's an edible arrangement or something."
"By edible do you mean—"
"William."
Eames' words ran dry. He simpered at the Point Man, "Oooh…first name."
"Do not finish that thought." Arthur warned the Forger to quit having fun at her expense. Eames sighed and complied. It was her birthday after all, "It's not a stripper, I promise."
The three settled back into their chairs and perused the menu.
xxxxxxx
Eames opened the door of his cab and quickly gave Ariadne a farewell kiss on each cheek, "Have a rocking," here the Englishman gifted her with an exaggerated wink, "time tonight, Tiny."
Arthur glowered. Ariadne just closed her eyes, shook her head and tried to wave it off before she started turning pink, "Thanks Eames."
The aforementioned froze with one foot in and one big shit-eating grin out, "I mean it Birthday Girl. Have a real grind of a time—A banging time."
"I'll try," joked the girl in reply though her face was on fire (and it showed). He finally sat in the cab but once his face turned as if he was going to say something else, she slammed his door.
The window rolled down, "A lovely little romp, if you w—"
"Thank you Eames." She yelled over him just before his ride pulled away. Again, her head shook and she turned around to Arthur. Arthur hoped she didn't have to meet Gavin until late; he had planned on taking her for a walk by the ruins and getting them some gelato if she had time. He wouldn't mind carrying her bags for her so she could stroll comfortably. "When do you have to meet Gavin?"
"Four thirty I think." It was almost three. Perhaps she could spare him another hour? "But I have to head back to my room and get pretty first," she shrugged, looking down at her phone. Presumably checking the time. Maybe voicemails.
Where had it come from? Well most of what Arthur said or did for the Architect these days was shocking compared to his natural responses. He hadn't sensed it coming. It was like vomit—if vomit came out in the form of a velvety compliment, "I think you look pr—pretty nice as you are." On second thought, he commended himself. It was one step closer to really showcasing his feelings. On third thought, he scolded himself for sounding as if he was trying too hard. Or like he was complimenting her out of politeness. On fourth thought, Arthur should've stopped after pretty. Pretty-nice didn't sound flattering.
"Thanks. I'd kind of like to look better than nice though. So." Her head ducked away timidly and it became one of those moments where Arthur's mind was spotless besides the one truth that Ariadne was the most stunning and fascinating creature he'd ever behold in his lifetime. Those moments were so frequent, now. Why on earth couldn't he express it? Every cell knew it, admitted it, responded to it. Yet when he made an attempt to confess how magnificently he viewed her, he said idiotic things. Like 'pretty nice'. His caged admiration intensified when the beautiful woman looked up again, "If only you liked hipster-y stuff. I think it would've been fun to go with you. Expose you to the natural habitat of us humans." The Point Man was absolutely incapable of un-dimpling his dimples. It was involuntary, the joy it brought him to think that his smile was infectious and Ariadne was affected by it since she imitated his expression. Ariadne also kittenishly added, "I would pay millions of dollars to see you dance like a dork."
"Who said I danced like a dork?" chided the Point. "And Eames is not good authority."
"My imagination's a pretty good one," challengingly, Ariadne tilted her head.
Arthur's brow raised, "I'll have you know that Mal and Cobb forced me to take ballroom lessons for their wedding reception…" he trailed off and looked around them. There weren't too many people strolling around. His mind drifted back to that day they picked up takeout together. The feeling of her delicate curves against his lines and edges. Her voice barely carried through the haze, "That doesn't make you good at it."
The Architect's smirk is what made him decide to go for it. In the blink of an eye, his hand was on her waist and the other holding one of hers out. Ariadne's pleasant surprise further egged him on and with one upturn of his lips plus a gentle tug, their stomachs brushed up against each other and touched through the clothing. Her free hand instinctively held onto the back of shoulder, hanging from it. Her body warmth burned through his jacket, through his vest, through his shirt, underneath his skin and scorched his bones. There was no way he imagined the hitch of her breath (which she tried to cover over with a cough). Swaying side to side, he (actually and cheekily) flirted, "Next time you imagine my dancing, you can think of us like this." Arthur dropped his forehead about an inch from hers and whispered, "Or you can imagine us closer if you want."
Ariadne tried her best to scowl. A car horn caught her attention and caused her head to turn away from him. The loss of being the sole focus of her attention was a loss he had not been expecting to affect him so radically. Arthur had so many desires bubble up while he stared at her profile (keeping the subtle back and forth movement of their bodies). He wanted to tuck that stray wispy behind her ear, he craved whispering things tenderly into it (his lips on her lobe, his cheek against hers) and he covetously desired leaving a trail of wet kisses from her collar bone to her lips. He needed to leave her breathless. He needed her to suffer the same gorgeous torture she'd unknowingly punished him with since they reunited. He needed her to be just as desperate and frantic for his name, his eyes, his words and touch as he was for hers. "Quick," he murmured soft enough for effect yet loud enough to hear over the light traffic and city sounds, "give me a kiss."
"But there aren't any projections staring at us," she turned her head back and laughed her head off at him until she saw his dark sparkling orbs. He didn't seem to be joking, "I'm serious, Ari. Kiss me." Then it was like the moon and the tides. The Point Man didn't have to request it twice…(well he did but you understand the saying). The Architect's lips parted slightly, made his heartbeat quicken. Slowly and nervously, Ariadne leaned in, tilted her chin up…come on, come on, come on…the suspense drove him wild. If he didn't want to look too eager—and give away that it wasn't a play on their inside joke from Inception—he would've impatiently crashed his mouth onto hers and kissed her into oblivion. Until both their lips were swollen and he was numb to the surreal sensation that tasting her caused. Until everything faded and disappeared and the only thing grounding him to reality was her and her hands and her lips and her eyelashes on his cheeks. Ariadne's bottom lip barely skimmed the tip of his when her damn phone went off and she jumped away from him to reach in her bag and check it.
It wasn't fair.
As she talked to whatever bastard interrupted them, Arthur fought to compose himself. To restrain the emotions and adrenaline. There had never been a craving to compete with the one for Ariadne. The Point was so frustrated; he didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to break her phone in half, toss it into the street and literally kiss her everywhere he could reach. Everywhere visible, everywhere not visible. Good God, she'd driven him insane. Every time Arthur believed he was as far in over his head as he could be, he sunk further and harder. Once she pocketed her cell and pivoted to him again, he was paralyzed in thought: He should tell her. He should tell her he had uncontrollable, adoring feelings for her. He should tell her she's the most exquisite thing on earth. He should beg her to please, please, please, kiss him. Put him out of his misery. Apparently she decided to torture him more and remain three feet away. "That was Gav. The only reservation time was for four-thirty so we have to leave at four so…"the Architect's eyes flitted to his lips. Do it. Please. Kiss him. "I should go."
"Let me drive you," offered Arthur zealously. His eyes were picking up every minute movement she made. Every bend of a joint, every blink. He battled the urge to make a fool of himself for one more touch. He burned, burned, burned. Only she could put it out.
"You need to get back to the warehouse; a taxi's fine." She picked up her big bag of goodies he'd gotten her (her other bags were stuffed inside) and stepped to the curb with her arm up. To Arthur's credit, he didn't snake his arms around that petite waist and nip at the creamy smooth skin of her neck like he envisioned. A car pulled up and—no, no, no…he couldn't be without her right now. He didn't want to be separated. He felt like one of those Love bugs or March Flies from Florida. The ones that die if you separate them? "Thank you again for everything," she smiled. It helped quell his feening skin (only momentarily) when he was able to open the door and help her in by holding a hand. "Have fun tonight," he smiled back.
He didn't mean it.
xxxxxxx
All I really wanna do is love you.
A kind much closer than friends use.
But I still can't say it after all we've been through.
And all I really want from you is to feel me
As this feeling inside keeps building
And I will find a way to you if it kills me, if it kills me
It might kill me. –If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz (Casanova Sessions)
Eeeeeeep! How did you guys like that little interaction? What do you think of the concert and dinner with Gavin? Think it's a date? And do you think anything will happen between them…? So far what I have planned for next chapter is pretty intense. SO…please, please review and inspire me to get it out fast like you always do.
Also thank you to the silent loyal readers too. Maybe you don't have time or an account or whatever but you still read and follow it and stuff too and that makes me incredibly happy.
Translation footnotes:
*1- Holy blue ( French equivalent of good heavens), Ariadne, don't you live the rosy life?"
*2- I'm so proud.
*3- Shut up and eat your croissant.